Planning to Apologise
by natalieashe
Summary: Molly has exiled Sherlock from the lab unless he's working on a case, but he has a plan... Innocent fluffy oneshot set in the midst of S3 Ep3 so *will* contain spoilers


**A/N: Set s****omewhere in the middle of S3 Ep3 so contains spoilers - timeline may be a bit off too. **

**Please R&R - particularly improvements for characterisation please :-)**

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Molly swapped the slide for another and adjusted the microscope, bringing the new tissue sample into focus. Everyone else had already left, but she wanted to finish cataloging the small batch of slides before her day off. As soon as the last lab tech had hung up his white coat she settled her MP3 player into the docking station and turned the music up. Selecting her favourite band, she hummed along to the tracks as she worked, occasionally singing a line and adding harmonies in her high clear voice. She reached for the last slide snd paused to take a sip of lukewarm vending machine coffee when a hot breath ghosted over her ear and a deep baritone enquired "Anything interesting?" She let out a scream, twisting to face the intruder, tepid coffee arcing through the air to splatter over a very startled Sherlock.

"What the hell...? You scared me half to death," she yelled at the dripping detective. He stared down at his saturated chest, the sodden fabric of his deep plum shirt now clinging to his torso. He was still standing very close - far too close as far as flustered Molly was concerned - and was wearing a very bemused expression. She shooed him away with an impatient wave of her hand, relieved when he finally got the message and took a step back.

"What were you looking at?" He asked again, peering over shoulder at the pile of slides and Molly's meticulous tiny handwriting on the catalogue cards. He had never understood Molly's insistence on writing cards before keying the data into the computer, but he admired her attention to detail. "Normally you are acutely aware of my presence from the moment I step into the lab, so you must have something fascinating on that slide for you to ignore me so completely."

Molly flushed. Insufferable man! Did he have to point out her total inability to focus whenever he was in the vicinity in such a casual manner? And did he have to sound so smug about it? She had become better at controlling her self-consciousness around him since his return from the dead, and the anger she still felt towards him after the drugs test helped, but every so often he did something that totally derailed any of her attempts at cool and confident. Accidentally breathing into her ear definitely had that effect.

"Necrotic tissue as a result of various venomous bites. I'm cataloging them. Trying to decide which would be most appropriate to unleash on a certain detective," she grumbled. "Why are you here? I told you to stay away unless you had a case from Greg."

Sherlock ignored her complaint, his eyes lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. Absently pulling the wet shirt away from his skin, he all but shoved Molly out of his way so he could slide onto her stool in front of the microscope.

"Let me see!"

He dumped the bag he was carrying onto the bench beside him and began adjusting the instrument. Molly was about to step away to fetch paper towels to absorb the spilled coffee on the floor when she did a double-take.

"Is that my handbag?" She demanded of the detective who was now peering at the necrotic cells, his mouth forming little sighs of contentment.

"Hmm? Oh yes, I needed your lipstick. The pink one you were wearing last Thursday, more specifically." She squashed the more obvious puzzled 'why?' in favour of a furious shriek that caused Sherlock to look up in alarm. "What's the matter?"

"My handbag was in my locker! _Locked_ in my locker, Sherlock! Locks are there for a reason - to stop people gaining access to the things that are _locked inside_."

"I would advise a more sophisticated padlock then Molly, or choose a code that doesn't have personal meaning to you," he smirked, and she blushed a deep crimson. Perhaps selecting Sherlock's birthday hadn't been the smartest move, but she had never considered he would want to access her locker _in the ladies' locker room_. "Anyway, the lipstick isn't in your cosmetic bag, or lying loose in the bottom amongst all the other random collection of rubbish you carry around. No wonder your bag is causing your shoulder to ache. John could help you with that; he gives a marvellous shoulder massage, if his girlfriends are to be believed."

"You've been through my stuff?" She yelled, mortified, "that's _private_ Sherlock, you don't rifle through a woman's handbag."

"Well how else was I supposed to find what I was looking for? I put my head around the door earlier but you were engrossed in your work. I know how irritating it is to be disturbed when working and I am perfectly capable of retrieving a small item for myself. I don't know why you should be so upset; the contents of your bag are hardly unusual for a woman - purse, mobile phone, cosmetic purse, diary, sanitary protection..." She let out another horrified shriek at the last, causing Sherlock to quirk an amused eyebrow. "You're a young woman of child-bearing age... It's hardly shocking to keep such items in one's bag. I am familiar with the menstrual cycle, although I obviously don't have first hand experience. Cases have been slow for a few months, leaving me time to observe your behavior in more detail. Based on the pattern of your moods and lack of tolerance towards me on certain days of the month, I calculated your cycle to be twenty-nine days precisely." He turned back to the pile of slides, selecting one at random and totally destroying Molly's organizational system in the process. "Speaking of child-bearing, there are only three contraceptive pills left in your packet. You should ensure you have your prescription refilled before your next date, or opt for a barrier method."

The door opened and John walked in just as the half full plastic coffee cup connected with the back of Sherlock's head. Rivulets of beige liquid streamed down his friend's neck causing him to shiver in a most unpleasant manner.

"What did you do?" John sighed shaking his head, taking in the stunned detective's soggy clothing and Molly's enraged face. Angrily she thrust a paper towel at Sherlock which he dabbed ineffectually over his damp curls. Before either of them could answer John's question a text alert sounded in Molly's bag. She rummaged inside coming up with her phone.

_I though he was called Sherlock? And why are you asking me to sh? Is it a secret? Lucy xx_

With a sickly feeling in her stomach she glared at the curly haired man.

"Oh yes, you received a message while I was searching your bag. Someone called Lucy. She asked if you'd 'shagged' Mr tall, dark and handsome from work yet. I deduced there were only two candidates matching that description. Craig upstairs, who has a long term boyfriend - and therefore seems unlikely - and Adam, your new lab tech, who is quite frankly far too young for you, if you don't mind me saying. I informed Lucy on your behalf that you have not, in fact, had sexual intercourse with Adam yet. I rather hope that won't happen, but um... Those pills?"

Molly stared open-mouthed at the infuriating, damp man and let out an unintelligible roar of frustration that actually caused him to lean back on his stool, his eyes wide. He glanced a silent question towards John, who nodded and squeezed his shoulder, "yep, a bit not good Sherlock."

Molly scrolled frantically through her text history, anxiously reading through her conversation with Lucy. It was some moments before she was satisfied that all the salacious details of their discussion about Sherlock had been communicated verbally and not in fact by text. John snorted, trying to suppress a chuckle. Molly glowered at the suggestive waggle of his eyebrows and the almost imperceptible nod towards Sherlock. "Tall, dark and handsome, huh?" He pressed his lips firmly together so he wouldn't tease Molly any more. Sherlock may enjoy living dangerously but an irate pathologist hurling missiles wasn't on his list of things to dodge today.

Molly lingered over the message Sherlock had sent from her phone. Poor Lucy must think she'd gone slightly mad, speaking of herself in the third person, but she realised where the 'shush' had come from. In spite of herself she smiled, immediately turning her back on the two men to hide it.

_Molly has not had sexual intercourse with Adam - SH_

Sherlock was watching her warily, plucking at a button on his shirt which was beginning to feel uncomfortably clammy against his skin. Since Molly had first slapped him six weeks ago after his positive drugs test she seemed to have become rather unpredictable. He quite enjoyed this new feisty Molly, but did she have to be so... a_ggressive_? There had been another slap three weeks ago when he had mentioned she may have made a mistake in his follow up test results as a result of her hormones. Now she was throwing things. _Wet_ things. At his _head_! There was something definitely very wrong with Molly Hooper. He decided it would be prudent to collect what he came for and leave her to her growling.

"The pink lipstick, Molly, do you have it? If it's at home I could go to your flat and collect it."

"I am not giving you my keys." She tipped the contents of her handbag onto the bench to confirm what she already suspected. Stepping so close to him their noses almost touched, eyes level with his as he perched on the stool, she said in a careful, but threatening tone, "give me back my keys Sherlock or the next thing that connects with your anatomy will be something very hard in a delicate place!"

John's snort of laughter made them both glare at the doctor with such hostility he blanched. Holding up his hands in a sign of submission he backed off to safe distance, out of range of random flying objects. "Sorry," he grinned, "maybe you should just give him what he wants Molly and I'll get him out of your hair?"

She dug in her pocket and pulled out the lipstick. She wouldn't admit it to anyone but she tended to keep it in her pocket for 'Sherlock emergencies' – those unexpected visits of his to the lab that may require Molly's assistance. Even strong, independent women could slick on a bit of lippy to try to draw the notice of the irritating, frustrating and completely unaware men they found attractive, couldn't they? Even if the only time Sherlock _had_ noticed he had called her mouth too small or something. She handed the small black tube over and grouched "get out of here, both of you. I have work to finish."

John and Sherlock beat a hasty retreat from the lab. Sherlock uncapped the lipstick and twisted the base, satisfied that he was correct in his deduction.

"I'm probably going to regret asking, but why did you need lipstick? And not just any old lipstick, this _precise_ lipstick belonging to Molly Hooper?"

"To make an apology, John." Replied Sherlock as if it should be plainly obvious to his blogger.

"Explain?"

"You told me this morning over breakfast that Molly was still annoyed with me, and that my readmission to the lab would go far more smoothly if I apologised properly to her for my lapse into substance abuse. You also said the apology had to be meaningful and relevant to Molly particularly, rather than the generalized 'sorry' I gave everyone else, which was less than satisfactory in your opinion."

"I remember the conversation, Sherlock." It had actually been more of a rant on John's part, after Sherlock had woken him at a ridiculously early hour by causing a small explosion in the kitchen that had resulted in several broken tea cups and a scorch mark on the work top that Mrs. Hudson would have a few words to say about. Sherlock had tried to blame the accident on Molly's continued spiky attitude towards him at the lab, meaning he was undertaking experiments in the kitchen with inferior equipment, while John had argued that he was an intolerable, selfish, man-child who should get over himself and go beg Molly's forgiveness before John was forced to shove the bow of his violin somewhere the sun wouldn't shine. It seemed perhaps that Sherlock had taken the hint. "Why lipstick?"

"I have observed that Molly favours this lipstick - the precise brand and colour - and that there is barely any left in this tube. It also improves the look of her face, taking it from merely pleasant to almost pretty, I suppose."

"So...? Oh! Were you thinking if buying Molly a _gift_?" John asked, stopping dead in his tracks. "I'm... astounded! I didn't think you were aware of the concept of gifts. You certainly never buy any. I don't even think you know when my birthday is," he accused.

Sherlock gave the grinning doctor his most withering look. "A token with personal appeal would be an appropriate apology, would it not? I just needed to identify the correct item, and I concluded that this particular cosmetic seemed to have a charm, that would help me achieve my objective."

John smiled. "You know what Sherlock; I think you may be right again. Let's go shopping, but maybe don't bother with your version of a compliment when you present it to Molly with your apology, or you may find your exile from the lab extended indefinitely."


End file.
